Love like the Sun.

Life continues to go on, we get up everyday, get the coffee going, watch as the cracks between the blinds covering the windows go slowly from dark to light as the day begins. This morning Noah got up way too early so I crawled back in his bed with him, asked if I could snuggle with him. He accepted.
I laid in the dark next to his little body, a mound of warmth and tiny breath. I couldn't see his face but I could imagine the outline: the curve of his nose and curl of his eyelashes.
Where has the time gone?
It seems I was just told I was pregnant with Ethan, a day and a feeling of awe I will never forget- and now Noah is three and Ethan will be seven on Tuesday.
SEVEN!
I am excited for 2013. Joey and I will celebrate nine years of marriage. My favorite author calls marriage "uncharted waters" and I have yet to come across a metaphor that is more true. Paradoxically, my marriage is home, familiar and safe. A refuge from the storm. I guess that's maybe the only way we get through the "uncharted waters" is by running to each other, to love, unselfish and forgiving love.
Love that is as new everyday as the sun pushing through my blinds, turning the night into the morning, over and over and over again.

Twinkling Eyes and Rosey Cheeks, Restored.

We've begun our Christmas celebrations early this year because Joey will work the 24th and the 25th. We went over to my parents house last night for our annual "Christmas Eve" celebration and then this afternoon we will go to Joey's parents and celebrate Christmas there.

It snowed yesterday just for us, for our early Christmas. The boys got to make a snowman while I was teaching exercise and when I got home Noah's pink cheeks from the cold, coupled with his smile and twinkling eyes was Christmas enough for this mama.

Every time I look at my boys I can't help but think of Sandy Hook and how deep and wide the loss of their children in such an unconscionable way must feel like. I read Noah Posner's beautiful eulogy by his mama and looking at his rosey cheeks and sparkling eyes in his picture, I cried. It was a relieving rush of tears after hearing about the trajedy over a week ago and knowing how devastating it was but for whatever reason not being able to respond to it like it should be responded to: crying for the sheer maddness of it, a maddness that I guess at first caused rage (the only consolable thought I had when I heard what had happened was that Lanza would burn in hell for all eternity) and then finally saddness at the imeasurable loss of all those little lives, and the lives of the teachers and administrators who couragously gave their lives to try and save them.

It makes me think of Christmas a little differently this year, of that baby born sent from heaven for us. We are broken, He is whole. We are sick, He is healer. We are lost, He is the Way. And there will be a day when He will wipe every tear from our eyes and all things, including the children lost two Fridays ago, will be restored and made new.

A Few of My Favorite Things.

Inspiring, they make me feel more like me.

A two buck gem from Forever 21 that brings any outfit to life. 

My fall workout hoodie. Off the shoulder eighties style, loose, free and happy.

Black leather jacket. Slide it on and instantly you wanna be at a bar, sipping on a beer, oblivious of time. I can't wait to wear it with a girly dress. 

The little hero. 

The Unmanageables.

I've been home most this week with Ethan. It's been great to have so much down time together. We bought "Brave" and have watched it twice. What a sweet movie!
I bought my Christmas ornaments and maybe will start them today, it being rainy and overcast and a perfect day for endless tea and crafts.
My boys are growing, changing, all the time. Ethan is a born leader, logical, direct and smart as can be. Noah is goofy, intent on having his own say, and loves to be snuggled, tickled, and doted on. Noah reminds me a lot of myself: sensitive and stubborn. Ethan reminds me of my older sister: independent and strong. It's interesting how our birth order affects our personalities.
I am looking forward to the holidays, to family time, amazing food, and just being together with each other. The latter, above all else, is by far my most favorite thing.

Unforgettable.

Surgery went really really well. He's got two killer incisions from the skin graphs to add to his previous three. They are right near his groin so he walks like my Grammie, all bent over to try and compensate for the tightness and pain . Then he has his "helmet" to protect his ear which he really hates to wear. He has to wear it for a week, long enough that by the end the front part will be covering his eyes, driving us all insane.

 He has been so brave through all three, never crying or freaking out, even though I know sometimes he wanted to. He always has been super friendly with the nurses and surprisingly resilient and self reliant, like this time as they were transferring him from the surgical gurney to his hospital bed after walking up in recovery. The nurses were preparing to lift him and instead he just crawled right over himself.
He wrote his doctor a letter so that the doctor "would not forget him".  It reads, "Thank you for being my ear docter. I am nervous but, I can't wait becaues after we might get a pet and I will get a huge bag of toys and a bubble gum ice cream cone."
On the front he drew an ear.
I think he's pretty much unforgettable.

The Last One.

Ethan has the last of his three surgery's building his new ear on Monday.  What a trip this process has been. It's been one of those growing up things-
When I first saw my son after a grueling labor and realized he did not have a right ear, I didn't really care.
That sounds horrible.
What I mean is I didn't really care because I just thought it would be something unique about him, like my dad, and life would go on and be fine.
What I've had to come to terms with is the reality of living in this world with an obvious deformity right on your face and how that affects someone's life.  Even though I didn't want to face it, just wanted to deny it, shove it under a rug somewhere, act like it didn't exist, I had to face this ugly reality that my son's life will be affected by the fact he was born without an ear.
And the kindest thing to do, I decided, was to try and fix it as much as we could.
It's not perfect and it's not going to be perfect. Our surgeon can only do so much with stolen cartilage and skin from other parts of Ethan's body. It's not like a boob that's just a nice round balloon you fill up or even a nose that has just a small amount of definition. Ears are complex and extremely detailed. Even the best doctors don't do them very well. Our surgeon ONLY does ears, all day long, everyday, and even he said it's a challenge for him to get it to look more like an ear and less like a "bar of soap".
I had my doubts going into the first surgery. Was it really worth it? The risk of surgery, being in a hospital, getting an infection...all for something that may take the small amount of skin he was born with and make it something into something bigger that may look more like a bar of soap than an ear?
But it has been worth it. Even with the eye infection and the horrible first stay in Shriner's that first time-
Ethan's face is now much more symmetrical and though his ear is not perfect it's much less noticeable than the little bit of skin he was born with. It blends.
He doesn't want to go back this time. I now understand why they give them toys and presents all throughout their stay-it's the only positive thing he can latch onto to make him want to go back. His first surgery I kinda thought it was overkill, all these toys at every turn. Now I get it and so does Ethan: surgery sucks. But at least there will be new toys.

Proverbs 31- Love that LADY!

Hey so I am excited to write a little bit on being a woman, on what makes me tick, on how that lines up with also loving God and striving to live my life with Him. Like I mentioned yesterday I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be a "godly" woman. Even the phrase kinda gives me the willies, makes me think of white gloves and tights.
And there's a big chunk of the problem right there. It seems to only be natural to have certain ideas associated with certain phrases. Stereotypes and cliches. Yuck.  I think a large part of growing up and also maturing spiritually is letting go of those automatic responses to certain ideas and instead replacing them with an openness to God Himself; a back and forth listening and pouring out our very selves before Him as we engage in our daily lives and decisions.
I've been wanting to write on Proverbs 31 for awhile.  I really love this little chapter in the Bible. It feels like a quick "one, two" (that's punches) to a prevailing train of  thought that runs like wild chickens throughout a lot of Christians today. Let me show you what I mean. Have you ever read, been told, or believed without asking God first that:
1. God really really really wants you to stay at home with your children.
2. You can work but only if you absolutely HAVE to for financial reasons.
3. Children are your first priority and if you work, you are putting them as second, or worse.
4. God will like you better if you homeschool.
5. You love your children more if you homeschool.
6. Your children will turn out and love Jesus if you homeschool.
7. God really really really wants you to homeschool.
8. Have as many children as you can. If you have anything less than three you are selfish.
9. God does not want you to spend a lot of time or money on your outward appearance. It's vain.
10.The less money you have and can live off of the more you love God.
Sound familiar?
The first time I went to Proverbs 31 after struggling with a lot of guilt in terms of wondering if I should and could work as a christian mom I anticipated being reprimanded by the scripture. Put back in my place- straight up told I should be at home baking bread, crocheting booties, and picking out homeschool curriculum.
Which, I should add here, is perfectly wonderful and good. There are many women who are called in their own hearts, by God, and also by the specifics demands of their families to stay at home doing the above said duties (and many more) to love and care for their families' present and future needs.
However, when I went to Proverbs 31, instead of the big paddle whipping I was expecting, I found confirmation and an amazingly abundant amount of freedom in doing exactly what I was doing: working my ass off everyday for the present and future good of my family, my marriage, and the society I live in.
Read Proverbs 31:10-31 and what you see is a woman who is working really hard, doing what she's good at, for the good of her family and society.  I'm going to take this verse by verse so we get the full picture of who this woman was and what she was doing.
vs. 11 Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.
Talk about a helpmate. With her by his side, this man lacks NOTHING of value. He wants nothing. She meets his needs, whatever they were. He believes in her and knows that she can accomplish whatever it is their family needs.
vs.12 She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life. 
Simple question: am I doing my husband good, or am I tearing him down?
vs. 13-15 She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands. She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls.
This lady is MOTIVATED! She works with "eager" hands. She's responsible for providing food for her family as well as portions (payment of some sort) for her servant girls.
Servant girls.
Yes, let's say it again- SERVANT GIRLS.
This lady had help, and lots of it, and she was responsible for taking care of her help.
vs. 16-20 She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night. In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
She's smart in business and makes good financial decisions which grow her family's financial assets. She's able to multitask and take on different endeavors at one time.
vs. 20-22 She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet. She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
This lady had money girls. Hard earned,  BIG money.  Most women back then dressed in simple white clothing and it was only the very wealthiest that could afford dyes of any sort.  She's not worried about "when it snows" because she has made sure that her family's needs will be met even when hard times come (she's got savings). And she has extra money to help the poor and needy in her society. This lady has her finances in order and  is able to make money, save money, spend money, and give money.
vs. 23 Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
She married a respected man!
vs. 24 She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes.
There she goes again, working and making money!
vs 25-26 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
This is one of my favorite parts because it shows her attitude in doing all that she is doing: this lady is joyful and not afraid of the feature in any regard. She's someone who if I lived back then I'd wanna go to to listen to all my crap and confusion and you know what she would probably say? Chill out. God loves you. Rest in Him.
vs. 27-29 She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed;her husband also and he praises her: "Many women do noble things, but you surpass the all."
 I think this sums up a large part of what it means to be a woman who is seeking God and seeking to be the best mom and wife she can be-has she made choices so that her families needs, emotionally and physically, are met and in return they bless her and praise her.  She's taking care of her family eagerly and with joy and they love her for it.
vs. 30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
She's got more than just her looks. She's got an impenetrable respect for God and what He has called her specifically to. She fears what the Lord thinks of her,  not what others may impose or imply. Her fear, respect, and will to follow go to one source: God and God alone. There is so much strength and freedom there.
vs. 31 Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
Love this too. She gets to enjoy the fruits of her labor and the accolades it brings her. She gets to soak it all in.
So I don't know about you, but when I read this passage none of the ten  sentiments above are confirmed in MY life. Some or all may be in yours and that's good. The key is that we as woman are working with our husbands  and seeking God to guide us in the specific decisions we make for our lives and our families lives. The key is HIM. An open, back and forth relationship with God in which we can hear His voice and know that we are walking with Him. It will look soooooo different for each and every one of us! We are so unique- there is not one woman who is put together the exact same way as another and the way in which we take care of our families and live our lives will be unique too.
I've stayed at home full-time, I've worked part time, and I've worked full time outside of the home. There is not a perfect way. Each has their challenges, their struggles, and their benefits. Like I said in my last post, there is no normal, no "right" way,  only a Love that is able to redeem every aspect of our lives as we offer our hearts up to Him.  He gives us the strength to get up every morning and fulfill our responsibilities with joy, whatever they may be.

Redemption: the New Normal.

I miss Joey terribly.  It's late and I haven't seen him since Sunday and at two o'clock this afternoon with the world buzzing around me it was fine but now, with only the buzz of the fridge, I really really miss him.
I know I shouldn't feel entitled to having a normal life, because there is no such thing, but sometimes during the day when I'm running around, here and there, and the thought occurs to me that soon I'll be off, I'd like to be able to think that soon I'll be relaxing with my husband. But no. I don't get that thought.
Although his profession has given us a very comfortable lifestyle and a certain security (as much as one can have) for our future, this aspect of it makes me sad tonight, and on other night's, when I have more energy, makes me angry.
Also been thinking a lot of Proverbs 31, the "go to" chapter it seems for women when we wanna know how we should live.
I love this woman. She's strong, smart, and confident. She laughs at the future. She's brave. She's joyful.  Her husband trusts her, her children love her.  She works her ass off. She makes wise financial decisions and grows her family's assets. She reminds me to dig down, deep deep down, and do everything I can to be the best woman I can be, to become the full potential of what God was thinking when He formed  me in my mother's womb.
Of all the different directions I am pulled and all the struggles that exist in each one, the most securing, comforting, thought is that no matter what, I am His, and He is mine. There is so much freedom there to be who we were created to be, to take risks, to explore, to not get stuck in boxes and cliches as to what things are "supposed" to look like; as to what 'normal' is.
There is no normal, only a Love that never stops, that reaches into every situation, every schedule, every mistake, every regret, every doubt, and offers redemption.

Insanity Resolved.

I think I've finally realized why this parenting thing is so damn hard for me: They are boys. Loud, unmanageable, risky, dirty, stinky boys. They challenge me on every. single. thing. They have to be spoken to directly and to the point as their attention lasts about as long as the first two words that come out of my mouth. They cannot sit still for...pretty much any time whatsoever.  They have to be directed, as in given things to do- they aren't the best at getting lost in imaginary play, which is pretty much all I did from my earliest memories. This was proven, once again tonight, when I said, OK, I'm going to go take a shower (here's to hoping they don't kill themselves while I'm predisposed for twenty minutes!) Well, the little one, he decided to come with me. The older one got a crazy hair and said, "OOo! OOO! I'm going to do P90X!"
Knock your socks off.
By the time the little one I had finished our shower and had our jammies on, Ethan had done one whole CD plus the fit test.
He was about to put in another when he suddenly decided he'd like to have a dance party instead. Insert Pandora Club Radio and instant party.
It reminded me (why don't I remember this???) that my boys need to be occupied. They like to have some direction, something to accomplish, something to do. 
So I've got it under my belt now-
the next time I wanna rip my hair out at the sheer insanity of it all, hopefully that'll trigger this insightful evening: PUT IN AN EXERCISE VIDEO (P90X or INSANITY WILL DO) AND TELL THEM THEY HAVE TO COMPLETE IT. And, like shampoo: REPEAT IF NECESSARY.
They'll love it.
BTW, Noah just ends up spinning in circles, but that's OK. Toddlers have this thing that defies dizziness. He can spin for half an hour and be sober as priest, although I want to puke after watching him for about two seconds.

Run, baby, run.

Sunday evening at home, resting. Or resting as much as you can with the littles around. They seem to always be hungry, or bored, or yelling at each other, or having to take a pee. Which reminds me: the other day Noah runs out of the bathroom and says to me, "Mama! Mama! I put all my pee in the trash!" At least he was aiming somewhere.
We had a wonderful weekend together up at the cabin. The older I get, the busier I get, the more I appreciate our little reprieve in the woods. It's easier up there to say yes to Ethan to play UNO or Battleship;  easier to cook a meal; easier to stay up late cuddling on the couch with Joey in front of the fire talking. Usually I'd include wine in that picture perfect moment, but the older I get wine puts me in a coma. After one such coma Friday night, where I was barely able to get up off the couch to get into bed, I told Joey I guess I need to switch to cocktails that are at least half Redbull. All part of getting old, I guess.
The Giants are in the World Series. I'm assuming you probably have heard. I'm happy for my better half-he's been watching the Giants ever since he was Ethan's age. He even has an opportunity to go to game six if they make it that far- Being a good wife, and just an all around good person, I have encouraged him to go.
I'm also praying mightily they win tonight and save us god knows how much money it will cost for him to go.
Went for a run today before we came home from Graeagle. It's such a treat to run up there. Today it was cool and brisk and felt so clean. The aspens have all turned a burning gold, outlining the dark Feather River in color like a ribbon.  Only in Graeagle do I NOT want to stop running. I always wish I could run longer, see what's down that road, what's around that corner. Last trip I ran so far I threw my hip out and after three weeks of trying all sorts of yoga/kickbox maneuvers that usually pop it back in, I'm finally desperate enough I'll go see a chiropractor this week.
My runs always clear my mind, allow me to pray, and give me ideas to write about. They give me energy and at the same time they take away building reservoirs of irritation and frustration and stress-from home or work. I recently had to write a bio for one of the gyms I teach at and as I started to write I realized how important exercise is to my life-emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  I read "Born to Run" this summer and in it the author talks about all these amazing people (the only one I can remember is Nelson Mandela) and how all of them were runners. He posed the question: were these all great leaders that just happened to run, or did running somehow play a part in their greatness? Just an FYI to blow your undies off, Mandela ran seven miles in place in his cell, everyday. He was in jail for almost twenty five years. And we think a treadmill at the gym gets old.
Anyway, I always go back to what my hubby told me when I very first started to run and could barely make a mile: running would always give me back so much more than what I had to put into it. He was so so right. It's a guaranteed investment with a return that cannot even be measured.  Another thing I've learned, if you are on the fence and thinking about running, is that even a ten minute run is better, so much better, than nothing. It boosts your metabolism and brightens your mood. I can only imagine this is why they have "15 minute" recess for children every morning and afternoon- even this little bit of time makes such a huge difference in kids' moods and their ability to concentrate. We were meant to move. We get cranky and lack focus when we do not.
Now, let's watch those Giants run, and win!

Days Like Today.

It's been one of those days. One of those ripped my piercing out, had two cavities filled, realized we've ruined the finish (and warranty) on our new floors kind of day.
I'm learning to keep my eyes up, off the imperfect floor, off the stuff in life that brings me down, and instead, look to the skies. To the One who is eternal, and who is mine. That's going to be enough.
I took Noah to preschool for the first time today. He looked so small, his Mario backpack hitting his shins as we walked into the school. "I'm going to a new gool today!" he says.
I had to pack him his own lunch and snacks and Capri Sun. As I left him-he was so brave-I thought about how we are leaving a certain phase of life, the time when babies run everything and you feel like you never get a moment, like your life stopped for three years while you attended to all their needs. We are not in the clear yet, but I see this desperate phase coming to an end.
My mouth is still numb from the shots they give you before the cavities. It numbed me all the way up to my eyeball. If my face were planet earth, my right side of my face feels like a great glacier, cold and huge. I am able to see what I would look like if I ever had a stroke.
***********************************************************************************
I wrote that awhile ago and never printed it. It's funny now, so far away from that crappy day.
I've had the boys to myself all weekend as Joey has been hunting. He needs that time away, with his brother.
It's good for us to be away from each other too, to miss each other. It's too easy to take him and all he does for this family for granted.
I was thinking today how awesome it would be to date Joey again, away from all the responsibilities that come with having a life together-
You know, where all he would be was a good looking, sweet guy with a truck. Somebody who could talk to me for awhile deep into the dark, fall nights.
He's still that guy to me. We just have a life to run together, and the late night talks in his truck get thrown our with all the other non essentials.
Or maybe they are essentials.
Anyway, I miss him. We are in a time of life that is really crazy town. We have young, demanding boy and we have young, demanding careers. We are laying a foundation for our life, but the soil is so hard to break. It's back breaking. Day in, day out, work. work. work. With very little time to breath or look at each other, let alone talk and understand how the other is growing or changing or who the other one is nowadays.
He's hoping to get home around 4, then he'll go into work at 6.
Two hours.
Here's hoping for at least a chance to look him in the eyes.

Thrifty Gems.

Thrift store find today! Been wanting one of these wristlets for going out with the hubster. It's perfect. LOVE the blue.
Also happened to find this little gem:

It's a cuff bracelet that is wired with all these beautiful shells. Looks homemade. I LOVE it. Plus the cuff easily bends and shapes to my wrist, something I am a little picky about. Bracelets have to fit, just like jeans or shoes.
These two pieces fit me perfectly. Now onto planning a night out to use them!

On The Work/Life Balance

I was recently asked to participate in a  'Motivated Mommy' thing at work. Isn’t that just the cutest little lable? Motivated Mommy. It's jus' cute!
I was asked for a picture of what makes me ‘tick’ outside of work and how I try to find balance between it all: work, life, hobbies.
Ahahahahahahahaha!
Balance? BALANCE???????
The last time I felt balanced I was six and walked across the balance beam at gymnastics without falling off.
But life? Modern life in America for a young, even motivated, mommy? You feel like a woozed up mummy back from the dead running off of caffeine and five hour energy drinks running here, running there, until it’s nine o’clock and the kids are finally in their beds (although probably not quiet, that’s not till around 9:45PM) and you fall exhausted on the couch. Pretty soon your mouth is wide open and the spittle of drool coming out the side of it wakes you up, and good thing too because there are lunches to be made, dinner to be cleaned up, and coffee to prepare for the morning when we get to start this, ALL. OVER. AGAIN.
Balance?
Not so much. I'm happy with functioning.
One thing I will say is that I have laid my pride down, I have realized I am not super woman or Martha Stewart or hell, I’m not even my own mother. I cannot do it all on my own.
And if there is any semblance of balance in my life, it is because I ask for help on a regular basis. This was hard at first, especially letting go of the reigns and letting someone else clean my house- but, that only lasted for about two seconds until I came home and the house was all sparkly. Yeah, I got over that real quick.

I don’t hesitate to ask any grandma or grandpa (does not have to be related; heck, I don’t even have to know them so long as they look trustworthy) to watch my children so I can go out on the town on a Friday or Saturday night and forgot about all my worries and cares of the week. It's amazing what a little beer and good music will do.

Mostly though the only reason this life of mine works is that I do it with a man who is an amazing partner in this crazy life of ours. He works like an animal and operates on a regular basis on very little sleep so he can do things like take and pick up Ethan from school. Every week we sit down with our little iphones and go over the schedule for the week: who’s picking up who when, what appointments and errands we have going on, what overtime he's working, who’s going to water the plants. I hate to brag but Joey is not the stereotypical man dipicted in every sitcom on TV.
I never feel like he’s “helping” me with the house and boys-He takes it on as much as his duties as mine, being the female. In fact, he’s better at so much of it than I am, including getting the boys to bed without WWIII happening, cooking meat (I hate cooking meat), and staying up on the laundry. If there is any one indicator as to why this life of mine functions, it’s him. A supportive, motivated, hardworking and devoted hubby and dad. He’s the bomb.
Vacations are also an absolute must. Sometimes even one day off is enough motivation to push through until you get it. It’s a silly little carrot, but it’s there anyway, calling for you: “Com’on! You can get here! Just think, sleeping in and endless coffee till 11:30am!!”
It’s small, but completely motivating.
But really, the reason I do all that I do is because I want to. I like to stay busy, even if it means passing out on my couch every night, waking up to my own drool.
It’s a crazy, exhausting, wonderful life. I wouldn’t call it balanced-I’d call it functioning and IF we've had our naps and are well fed, it can even cross over into...hold your breath...yes, fun.

Fall.

Fall has ascended on this little house of mine, if not truly in the weather (it's still in the 90's!) then at least in its decorations.


I love this fall wreath. It's so full of sticks and leaves, reminds me of a walk in Ranch San Rafael park in the peak of fall.

I bought artificial pumpkins this year so that I don't have to buy ten real pumpkins every year only to have them rot. That way we can just buy two real ones for the boys at the pumpkin patch. 

I love how my greys go with all the seasons-my oranges and yellows in the fall, reds, greens and whites at Christmas time, and blues, turquoise, and yellows in the Spring and Summer.

The sign "Happy Fall!" is from an old sign I had that I wasn't using anymore. I bought some of that chalkboard paint, painted over the other sign, and now have a sign I can use to say anything I want! The boys helped me make this one, which is fun for them too.

This couch is the most comfortable, soft couch you will ever find. The whole thing is filled with down feathers! I fall asleep on it every night. No joke.

There he was at the store...I had to take him home.

 My new table! Leaf is stored inside so when we have friends over it can sit eight. Comes in handy these days with all my friends multiplying like cockatoos.

This is my flower garden for next year. It'll be so pretty up there.

And...we just painted the outside of the house. Remodel complete!

The Remodel has Come to a Close. Swimming. And Procreating.

I’ve gone through quite a metamorphosis since January, 2011. God told me this was going to happen and it did. It was the year of the remodel, inside my house and inside my heart.

I like what has happened.

It’s prettier, more comfortable. And if my home is not more secure, my heart is for sure.

What I am finding in my relationship to God is I care less and less about all the “shoulds” and the “have to’s” and the rules, and more about the refuge and stronghold He is to me. The thought of ‘spending time’ with God because I ‘have to’ or I ‘should’ is ridiculous. I desire it, desire His promises. In fact, in seasons of intense crappyness, His words, His nearness, is how I take the first step out of bed in the morning- ‘I am with you. I am for you. I will never forsake you.’ –And in we go to the kitchen to prepare the coffee.

It’s like a little birdie learning how to fly, how to let go of all of the strings and expectations that have tied me down for so long-strings that originally were a strong sense of security, but as I grew older grew very tight and restricting. It’s like every expectation I let go of is a snip of another tether, getting me closer and closer to exploding into the sky, into the wide expanse of endless freedom.

Paradoxically, for the first time in my life in the midst of all this new found freedom I feel real security in my life as a wife, mother, and Christian woman.

 I realize my marriage is as good as I make it. Or as Bieber says, the grass is green where you water it.

I realize I am never going to be a perfect mama, but that as I pray and lay down my impatience and selfishness, God is faithful to give me grace. Over and over and over. That He meets me right in my place of need, and in Him I am exactly the mama He wanted for Ethan and Noah.

I realize my life is less about “finding” that perfect place (it doesn't exist), and more about being thankful for what I have. Appreciating my amazingly beautiful husband and sons, my extended family, other women who are tromping through this life as I am who I am blessed to call friends.  Learning not to take these precious things for granted.

Ethan is six and a half now. His toothy grin is enough to melt my heart. Sometimes I’m afraid we put too much pressure on him, but I think that’s my own emotional insecurities surfacing- he’s a tremendous helper with Noah, especially in the morning. They get up together, much too early, and Ethan gets them both breakfast and usually can manage to get himself and Noah dressed with minor help from a tired and usually grumpy mama. A mama who needs time with Jesus, literally.

 He has a list of things he has to do before he can turn on a movie in the morning, which by the way has made our mornings seamlessly smooth:

Get dressed

Eat breakfast

Put breakfast away

Make bed

Clean room

Put lunch in backpack and shoes by the door.

If  Noah is going to school, Ethan has to help his brother do these things too. The movie motivates them and then keeps them quiet and occupied until it’s time to go. Usually it spares me at least 15 minutes to talk with God. It’s the most beautiful thing in my life right now. Can I get an AMEN for NETFLIX!

Noah is at that age where if I am not wanting to pull my hair out (OK, or shoot myself) I just can’t get enough of the smell of his skin, his light, whispy blind hair. In the early mornings especially, walking down the hall in his undies, his knees slightly bowed, dragging his light blue blankie. “Hold me Mama.” I could just eat him.

I am ready for fall. More and more each year I love this time of year: the cooler mornings, the trees transitioning to their reds and yellows and oranges, and of course pumpkins.  Actually I could go on and on: the hot chai, the scarves, the boots, the hats, the pea coats, the crunchyness of the leaves under foot, trying to bake an apple pie, apples everywhere, candles. The only reason I don’t love this season as much as summer is summer precedes it, whereas winter (we don’t have spring) precedes summer. So summer is a little bit more anticipated. OK OK by the time May rolls around I am a walking SAD mess, and will probably go back on medication to get through those three horrible months (February, March, and April). It’s like their coldness seeps into my heart and almost kills it, every single year.

Work is going well, although I hate getting picked up on by OLD (we are talking grandpas) at starbucks wondering if I am “doing my homework”. Really? In these heels? Last I saw college people wore jeans and hoodies.  And I’m sure those young, dewy people don’t have that  wrinkle line around their lips or the darks bags under their eyes of absolute exhaustion from making sure two loud, needy and desperate little boys don’t kill themselves and have food, water and fresh undies on a daily basis. Last time I spoke with a college person, she was “so stressed” about having to work as the check in girl at the gym ON TOP of having to study for finals. O god forbid we have two things on our plates! Plus she had a boyfriend, and we all know how time consuming they can be! What with all the dates and free time together.All we need is a nice nap on mom and dad’s couch and a forty dollar hand out for gas and maybe we’ll be able to breath again!

Mercy.

  I’d say I guess I’m happy they think I am young and in college except I don’t think they could tell the difference between a girl between the ages of 14 and 44.

You know another thing that has really hit me this year? Is how hard you have to work to make it. How so much of life is getting up, doing the grind, appreciating the times of relax you get, but mostly WORK. It’s stuff I’d rather not be doing, mostly because I am a lazy ass, but it’stuff that’s worth doing because it’s building a life together with Joey, the love God has given me, our children, the little loves God has given me. It feels so good to build this life with Joey and the boys. I see it. I see the trees we’ve planted growing taller than we are, I see our bonds of commitment and love holding each other through the hard times, and the refuge of our home and being together. Like I said earlier, I feel secure in this life of mine for the first time. I used to think my life felt like a tip of a needle, and that at any moment it could fall this way or that and crash.
I don’t feel that way any more. I know that it takes work, but that God is there, and He is good. He is near. Instead of feeling like I am balancing on the tip of a falling needle, I feel strong and grounded, sure footed. “The Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights.” Habakkuk 3:19.

The weekend is here. Thank goodness, two days of my loves. We take the boys to swim lessons. Lessons to which I first opposed. They are expensive, and I didn’t need lessons to learn how to swim. Granted, I swim like I’m drowning, but I manage. Joey insisted, said he’d work overtime every week to give them to they boys, bless his soul! I said whatever.

I went for the first time last week and almost cried watching the boys interact with the obviously amazing instructors. They jumped and played and SWAM in the water with their heads’ UNDER the water. You wouldn’t think this would be that big of a deal, but just wait till you have children of your own who scream like you have just released a swarm of angry bees at them in the bathtub when you go to rinse Johnson and Johnson out of their hair. Tear free? The shampoo maybe. The water itself? Like death, like the little trickle in their eyes is a dagger to their very heart. I’m surprised Social Services has not come  knocking, mid bath. Their screams can be heard up to nine housed down the road. We’ve tested it.

So empathize with me as I sat there last week behind the parent glass at the pool, dumbfounded and then trying hard to keep from crying as I watched them participate in the water like kids are accustomed to do: kicking, laughing, splashing. Getting water in their eyes and…hold your breath….

Not screaming!

I have to hand it to my husband. He does have some good ideas when it comes to the boys, even if much of the time he has to work around their cheap ass mama who still hates to swim with her head under the water.

Noah has turned three. And to let you in on how wonderful the threes are, here is how this morning went:

“Noah, it’s your BIRTHDAY today! YAY!”

“ NO! I don’t WANT a birthday! It’s NOT MY BIRTHDAY! I WANT A BAGEL RIGHT NOW!”

And thus the threes have begun.

I believe most boys (I hesitate to use 'all'; I know there are exceptions) so most boys have varying degrees of autism starting at about two years old. I believe this autistic nature grows and blossoms (again, in varying degrees) until they are five. And then at five, if they are not truly autistic, they come back to the real world. At least that’s how it’s been with my one and only child I have experienced so far. Noah seems to be following suit beautifully. Four is when it gets really bad. Four is Foul. At four, you dig your heels in and just hang on, hang on for dear sweet life because everyday your four year old is going to be faced with decisions he doesn’t like and at four years old, screaming and biting and slamming his heels into the bedroom door so loudly it sounds like he just might kick it down, he can cause quite a ruckus.

 So we are in for the long haul. I can hardly think of it, it just makes me queasy-two more years of increasing autistic like behavior!YAY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

At five years old with Ethan it was like a light switch. It was like all of a sudden it dawned on him no one else was kicking doors down when they didn’t get what they wanted. At five years old, my life with Ethan started functioning again at semi-normalness, or as normal as life can be with the littles around. We are almost there with Noah (730 days to go). God help and bless with many blessings the mama’s whose children are truly autistic and live with all sorts of unimaginable for years and years and years.

People like to ask me if we are “done”.

I think my instinctual response that wants to punch them in the face should be answer enough, but I just coolly say, “Ya, I think so.” And then blame it on the cost of college or something like that.

But really, really the answer is I do not want to go through ages 2, 3, and 4 ever again. And probably infant to 2 too, because not sleeping really sucks. Oh and I guess the pregnancy too because I am done with being fat and having a back ache for months on end. Not to mention monthly checks of my stuff.

By the time you are ready to have a baby you have spread your legs for so many tests and procedures it seems as natural as giving someone a hug when you greet them.

“Hello. Can I spread my legs for you? Oh? Wider? Sure. How’s that?”

Most people prefer the “college these days!” response.

I didn’t expect to stop procreating so soon. As a little girl, I always dreamed of a handful of children, three at least, definitely not two! I also wanted to marry royalty, play in the NFL, and be a badass lawyer like you see on TV, all dreams I’ve had to regretfully let go as I realize my natural limitations.

So two it is! One for each hand, as they say. 

It’s plenty enough for me.

Sundays.

Church today. I'm looking forward to it. We missed last week. I needed a run and then we went up to Tahoe to spend time together enjoying the beauty of that big lake, soaking in the warm weather that isn't going to last much longer. Some friends of our friends had a boat so Ethan and dad got to ride behind on a tube, and mama got to wake board for the first time.
I've always wanted to try wake boarding but we don't have friends or family with a boat, so the opportunity hasn't ever been there. Then there's my 'thing' with snowboarding, which they say is similar- It's alright, but not my favorite. Plus, it kinda scares me when I feel out of control and the only way to gain back control is to fall hard- if I'm lucky on my ass but usually my head gets a bang or two as well. It just hurts. And it's icy cold.
Wake boarding was completely different. It was exhilarating and refreshing. And yes, it did hurt to fall, and at one point I thought I lost both my contacts after hitting the water with both eyes open-but afterward, sitting in the boat with my teeth chattering so hard I was afraid I was going to chip them, I felt more alive than I've felt in a long, long time. I'm not sure when I'll get to go again, but at least I can cross that off my bucket list.
But today I am looking forward to the usual routine, going to church, singing and swaying to the music, listening to the speech-it's not guaranteed, but usually if my heart is open I leave feeling more alive as well, minus the involuntary teeth chattering.

Family Vacation

Our weekend was fast and full of the good stuff in life: people we love, music, delicious food, good alcohol, live music, and nature.
We went to Tahoe with Joey's family, all three of his siblings and their spouses and kids. It's great to have so much family to enjoy! On Saturday night we had two babysitters come up and watch all the littles so we could go see Brad Paisley at Harvey's. The concert was outside, the fresh air as intoxicating as the beer. We  listened and swayed to the loud, rock'en music of   Easton Corbin, The Band Perry and Brad Paisley. 
My husband practically held me the whole time, which felt good. I'm glad after nine? ten? (where the hell are we?) years of marriage I still want to be held, and he'll still hold me.
The bathroom situation was entertainment in itself. I'm not sure I'd pay money to do it again (I almost fell over in the sani-hut, due partly to the uneven ground it was sitting on and partly to the Coors Light) but maybe. It was like walking away from the concert into a scene from Armageddon: crowds of desperate people needing to relieve themselves, dressed in their best, standing in  long lines, waiting and waiting in the most putrid smelling air. The men didn't even bother to close the doors to the urinals. As one would leave, swinging the door in front of him, the other three were left helpless, their manhood finishing its business right there in front of a crowd of waiting women with nothing else to look at. It made me think how quickly even our "best" gets brought down to earth: we all gotta pee and we'll pretty much do whatever it takes to relieve ourselves.
The next day we spent at the beach. It's still hard with Noah-Ethan entertains himself, but Noah, at almost three, still has to ask for a "nak" (snack) ever eight minutes and isn't quite satisfied with anything you give him. In one word, the kid is EXHAUSTING. I dream about the days he's about six and will play happily for twenty minutes by himself.  Nirvana.
At least he poos in the toilet. Every time the kid does his business I say a very happy mama prayer to the bathroom angels for bringing that on so swiftly.  As far as Noah goes, that's my one sane point: he puts his poo in the toilet. Hallelujah.
Ethan hit a major milestone by jumping into the pool of the side for the FIRST TIME IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE.
"Mom! I never knew jumping in could be so fun!" We've only been telling him for three years now.
We were thankful Ethan was all better because he was sick the previous Sunday and into the beginning of last week, but by Friday he was good to go. We were a little rattled when we got Noah up from his nap to go, truck running, and he says he doesn't feel good followed by barfing all over his bedroom carpet.
What to do? What to do?
We went. I was quarantined in the hotel room with Noah for the first night. He made it through the evening and all through the night. When I sent an enthusiastic "We're all better!!!" text to my sister in law the next morning, she informed me her three year old barf and pooed, the runny kind, all night long.
How do we ever survive children? How?
Somehow the sickness kindly left us, and our weekend, so that we could enjoy ourselves, instead of going stir crazy looking at the over-patterned carpet in the hotel room, wiping off barf on the white toilet seat every thirty minutes.
Instead, the gods smiled down on us, and we got to do Paisley and the beach.
We also rented a jet ski and Joey and U.Scott took the older boys out. I wanted a ride too-so I climbed onto the back and held on tight to my husband's life jacket straps. I needed something to take my breath away, wake me up, and I knew a good ride behind Joey on a jet ski would do it.
Of course it did. My husband doesn't hold back. But just like in life, I know I am safe holding on to him, no matter how fast he flies, how hard he pushes.We flew around like two crazies, jumping over waves and and coming down hard as the water spit up in our faces, the wind cool and refreshing to our bodies, but mostly to our souls.

Just Stuff.

It has been a long, long week. Is it really only Wednesday?
The boys are watching TV.  Pretty much whenever we are home.  I remember playing outside as a kid, but maybe I'm imagining things?
We are going over to our pastors' for dinner. I'm looking forward to the socializing, praying my boys will get grossly immersed in something and take care of themselves. It's a long shot, but a girl can dream.
I went back to kickboxing. Best decision I ever made. My body feels like mine again, all beat up and sore and worked. It feels really good. My back hurts, so I stretch my buns/hips and run massage tools all over them to increase the blood flow. Totally works, instantly.
I'm teaching a kickbox class as well, Monday afternoons. I love teaching this format. I needed a break, but it feels so good to be back.

The Good and Bad of Free Slurpees...and other thoughts on Being a Mama.

I drew a picture today, pencil on paper...something out of nothing. Maybe I'm alive after all. The thing about trying to do it all "right" is that so much of the time I feel like I am going through the motions, set on "auto" mom, waiting for something, or someone, to slap me up beside the head and say, Wake up!
Yesterday was not such a good day.  I had the boys by myself, something you'd think I'd be able to handle as their MOTHER, but for some reason (PMS? My personality? Me?) just being with them made my blood boil.
Once I had that saying in my mind, "Being with my kids makes my blood boil" I felt better. It was such a good description.
They didn't start out heating my blood, even though it was 100+ degrees. The good thing about that was it was free slurpee day at 7-11. I had never participated in this before, because, as an adult, I rarely get a slurpee, but kids take you back, let you experience all over again the joys of some perfectly sweet and refreshing mixture on a hot hot day.
So I played it up a little,  HEY GUYS!! TODAY IS 7/11 (big long explanation of July being the 7th month, day 11 yadeyada) SO WE CAN GO GET FREE SLURPEES!!
My poor children, although excited because of my tone, didn't know what to make of it because, I later learned, they had NEVER HAD A SLURPEE. Fail number one as a mother for the day.
Because I had never participated in this lovely event before I really didn't know the rules. Was there a particular size you had to get? Whattya do, just walk in, fill your cup, and walk out? Really?
 It was pretty crowded around the colorful square dispenser machines, and not wanting to look like too much of an idiot I grabbed the smallest size cups available and filled them up.
It was on our way out, right after I said, "Thank you," to the ragged cashier, that she responded, "Ma'am, those are not free slurpees."
Number one, I do not like to be called Ma'am. Especially by an old woman. Secondly, why don't they post some damn rules so we don't get arrested for shop lifting right in front of our children and everyone?
Anyways. It sort of went down hill from there. We went to Wal-mart, and Savers. I haven't done the Savers thing in forever,  and I really like it. How awesome is it to look for little treasures, and when you find one, it's like $1.99??? Plus it's recycling, and helping The Boys and Girls Club. Once you get accustomed to the smell, it's guilt free shopping at it's best!
I got the boys a whole bag of clothes. They played with the toys (OK, that's a little disgusting) and they kept asking me to buy them those bags of absolute trash little toys they put together. I held fast.
Come to think of it, even after coming home, making dinner, and cleaning up, everything was going ok. They watched a movie while I put together the new closet organizers I got (my closet looks uh-may-zing, I'll have to post), and then it was bedtime. And that's really where the good times end.
My husband and I have been talking about this for years now: I like to do things last minute. Slurpees! Wal-mart! Savers! And entire closet re-model! All after an eight hour day of work. The problem is that after all the fun is done, I'm done. I have about two  drops of emotional energy left, and putting a six and two year old to bed takes more like 7 hundred million gallons.
We started the bedtime hoopla at eight and they weren't done talking and asking questions and peeing and telling me they needed a bowl because they were going to throw up (lie) until about ten-ish.
You know, right about the time I wanted to shoot myself.
Instead I cried and I told God I hated being a mother.
I think part of my grief is that I thought I'd be good at this shit!
I thought I'd be all nurturing and soft and love singing my kids to sleep. Instead, Ethan tells me, "Mom, I'll read Noah this long book, because I know you are too tired. You can read the short one." (And by short one, we're talking the toddler one word on each of the five pages of the book, book).
Mercy.
I loved getting read to as a kid. My dad would read and read and read. And I always said I was going to do that too...
I think what is some of the only redeeming grace I see right now is how quickly my kids come back to me. How even after I come completely unglued, just a few minutes later they are right at my feet again with a new something they must tell me,  or Noah reaching his hands up and asking, Hold me.
At that point, it's wrong for me to dwell. As much as I can, I throw it behind me, listen with both ears open to my chatty six year old, or reach under those doughy arms of my two year old and bring him close to my face, breathing in his fleeting littleness.

Hey I Deleted Some Links

FYI I went through and deleted some of my links to other blogs because they either didn't work or hadn't written in like a year. If you decided to start up again, let me know!!

Catch Up.

Well, it's been awhile!
We went on the most amazing vacation, where I re-learned to play, after a whole winter in hibernation-but more on that maybe later. It started out as all vacations do, packing all of our daily little necessities-the vitamins, the wine opener, the shoes, the underwear (oh wait! That's right! I forgot mine, although I packed a good weeks worth of extras for Noah since he recently decided to use the toilet. Too bad I couldn't make them fit). So yeah, besides it being an absolutely amazing vacation, I was underwear-less the entire time! Talk about refreshing.
Thinking back, I realize Joey and I didn't fight too much, which is pretty good, considering vacations can be breeding grounds for long, overdue arguments. I think the trick is we've learned how to fight, and we've learned how to fight good. In the moment. The way fights are supposed to happen.
Take this morning for example. I ordered a stuffed animal hammock for the boys bedroom off Amazon for $7. The thing is the shipping was like $10.76. I thought it was a little ridiculous, like I was really getting you-know-what-ed, but at the moment I didn't care. I could barely see the print, ordering it on my phone, and I had already checked Wal-mart and they didn't have it. Besides, it was worth $18 bucks to me. When Joey saw what I had done he let me know that I could have picked normal 5 day shipping for free, instead of the 2 day rape you shipping. I told him at this point that I was SICK of being micromanaged and that I was SICK of being married. I can't remember really what exactly happened at this point, but that's the point. He didn't do anything.
Later, when I told him I was sorry for saying I was sick of being married, he just said, "I still love you" and I thought, damn, I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anything close to you.
 So that was that.
 Vacation was good to me. Joey and I both read Born to Run, a book that inspires your heart and gets you off you butt. We ran and hiked deep into the mountains, caught slimy, crazy-eyed fish, swam across lakes. I can still feel the cold water engulfing my body, giving me goosebumps, awakening my spirit. I had almost forgot how to play, but once I started I didn't want to stop. Give me a ball, a bat, a bike, a lake, an innertube, just let me play! Every night we'd crash, totally exhausted in the most wonderful way, brown from the sun and smelling like dried sweat. I think in the first five days I only took two showers. This, from a girl who showers at least once if not twice a day normally. It felt great to stop taking so much care of myself and just enjoy living- minimal make up (was THAT ever hard to get used to. I felt like all I needed in the morning was a missing front tooth and I'd look like I'd been on bath salts for years) no curling iron, no eyeliner. Until the end when I couldn't stand it anymore, and then I put some on.
The boys...watching them play, being with them everyday in the water, on the bikes, eating ice cream...there is nothing better. Period.
They are away this week with my mom, visiting my sister and her family in southern CA (jealous!). And it's been really nice to be away from them too...I am able to write. I consolidated the boys' bedroom into one (shhh! it's a secret!) so I can have an office and workout room, and Joey and I have gone out to eat, to the movies, and had an incredible morning this morning soaking in warm sun on the patio, reading, drinking coffee, uninterrupted.
It's the fourth, and I am enjoying the quiet crash of the leaves as they move in the wind, sending in a light breeze over my toes. It feels really good to write again.

I think it's important to do one thing that makes you feel alive once a day. For me, running, or writing. Sex sometimes. I think it's important to do one thing that makes you feel like you accomplished something, or created something that shows something else. Maybe that's what it is: all three of those things show something else: running shows accomplishment, writing shows life, sex shows love, intimacy even. And heck, all of them feel really good. They remind me I am alive. Breathing the air in Graeagle has the same effect. We will be there in two and a half weeks. I am giddy with excitement. I want to be with my boys, enjoy the long relaxed evenings with no dread of the alarm beeping (or now a days "harping" on the iphone-I hate that f-ing harp) my ear off. We are so blessed with Graeagle. It's only forty five minutes away-forty five minutes to quiet, to trees that point to heaven, to air sweet in my nostrils. My favorite thing to do there is walk, and listen to the quiet. It's a quiet you don't get in the city because it's a quiet without background noise. The "caw caw" of the bluejays is distinct and crisp against the silence and when the wind blows, gently, it sounds like running water way way off in the distance. It's a quiet that seeps in your bones, slows your heart rate without you knowing it. A quiet that allows you to recognize your own breath, reminding you that you are alive.

There are beautiful thoughts in me sometimes, thoughts that propel me through the everydayness of getting up, putting the make-up on, staightening the hair-while Noah whines for a sippy and Ethan's mouth won't stop about this Power Ranger or which is closer, Enland or Paris? And are they in the United States? Beautiful thoughts, thoughts that there is something bigger going on, a plan, a purpose, a happy ending. I am finishing my first full day of being twenty-nine. What a sexy age! I hardly believe I am still in my twenties, those restless years. This is just how I see it: I don't care how pulled together you may look, when you are in your twenties you are still a baby, still maturing. Somewhere I read the mind doesn't fully mature until the mid thirties and we are at our most potential to what we can offer the world in our sixties. I really like that. It gives me time back the magazines want you to believe is gone by the time you're twenty three and find the first dip of cellulite in your ass. (Or in my case, when you find it at fourteen). It's a beautiful thought to think we are at our very best at sixty years of age, a bit wrinkly but full of knowledge..."Let us know, let us pursue the knowledge of the Lord, His going forth is established as the morning; He will come to us like the rain..." Hosea 6:3. If my twenties have felt like a violent, dark tornado, I hope my sixties will be a decade of refreshing, reviving, nourishing rain. That I will know and feel and believe so purely in the faithfulness of God who loves me that all I will see are His blessings, His protection, His hand guiding my every move. His presence inflating my lungs with each breath I take in. Tornado or not, I am coming out of my twenties quite strong. Last weekend I got to spend so much time with the man I love, and who loves me. I had the most amazing birthday weekend with him. My oldest son made me two "love" posters for my birthday, and Noah spilled the beans when he told me early, "We got you a birthday present! I got you a toy and a sandwich!" Despite still having major patient issues at bedtime when I am with them alone, they fill my heart. They are beautiful thoughts.

It feels right tonight to be sitting in bed, pillows propped high and soft. The sprinklers just kicked on in the back, the comforting sound of home.
Working full time has made my home even more of a sanctuary, a safe place to rest before and after the hullabaloo of the day.
In the morning I try my damndest to rise at the glorious hour of five thirty AM to curl up on my couch with a cup of hot Joe and a book or two.  I like to pray then. Then as the clock ticks ticks ticks I know it's time to MOVE...and move we do until, on a good night, nineish, when the boys are in bed and the kitchen has been picked up and wiped down and lunches have been made, and oh, the coffee. Setting up the coffee for the next day is the most important thing I do all day long.
For Mother's Day Joey got me Wild Water's passes so we went last Saturday. We packed a lunch and ate in the back of Joey's truck with old towels laid out as blankets on the black casing so as not to burn our buns.
I stayed mostly in the kiddy pool with Noah. He was very independent and when I told him I was cold and wanted to warm up for a minute, he turned right around and went on the slide himself. That's when I knew this was going to be a wonderful summer and the passes the best Mother's Day present to date. Independence in my children is an  immeasurably beautiful thing.
 Ethan also climbed the latter (literally) in his own independence and went on all the BIG slides he was tall enough for. This, for a kid with whom we have struggled ever since he was six months old and I put him in the pool at our apartment and he screamed his head off, to get him to just enjoy being in the water. Getting wet. Getting water in his eyes. Not freaking out.
He had an amazing time. Joey enjoyed being with him.
I forgot how damn high those slides are, and was a little annoyed as to how out of breath I was carrying the double tube up there. I guess maybe I need to go back to kickboxing.
Which leads me to...I went to the chiropractor today, just to kind of check in and get some info but instead got my whole body twisted and popped and squeezed. It felt amazing! BUT, not as amazing as an hour long massage, and since it's the same out of my wallet, I'm going to stick with the massage. He did tell me one leg was shorter than the other though. Shoot. Maybe that's why I walk funny.
But I miss working out hard. I miss the endorphins you get, miss feeling really good after. You don't get that by just "moderate" exercise. "Moderate" exercise leaves me feeling a little tired and frustrated. Like nothing was released. Hard exercise, on the other hand, leaves me feeling refreshed and strong, like I can take on anything.
It may be time for something new.

Living in Spaghetti

The thought, Writing is like holding on to something that is completely and unmistakeably mine. Where so much of my life is run by the "have to's" writing stays a precious and rare "because I want to" makes me get out the laptop, despite not knowing what it is I want to write about and feeling like my eyelids weigh 450 pounds.
We are in the middle of our week. Noah went to bed smoothly tonight because I've learned to start the whole process much earlier than you'd think you'd need to. I have more patience, he's less tired and grumpy. We can get through five or six stories (holy smoking cows!), a couple of songs, even the 'tune' he likes to play on his harmonica (how in the world THAT ever got thrown into the bedtime routine I will never, ever, know, but it's there, right after turning on his CD player and before placing him in his bed).
Then Ethan. We played checkers after having cookies. He wanted a 'date night' at home. It was fun until the very end, when I beat him. Six year olds are very sore losers.
After he calmed down, he read me, "Take me to the Zoo" and  "A Fish Out of Water". Both books have this rhymey rhythm that put me right to sleep. Reminded me of my dad snoozing on the couch way back when I was little and loved to read.

I remember learning to read. I remember learning to read words like, "LOOK" and "BOOK" and the biggest and weirdest word of all "SPAGHETTI". That one made no sense to me whatsoever and was the first sign that there were things in this world that just don't make any sense, and that's just the way it is. It was the first time I remember having to live in a state of ambiguity. I had to keep going, keep learning how to read, even when  that whopper of a word was thrown in there and smashed to bits all the neat little rules of grammar I was learning.
It would have been nice if someone would have let me know it was an Italian word, not an English word. I think I would have been able to accept it easier.
The inevitable would have come anyway, words that defy all rules and guidelines, words that just are just because.

 I feel sometimes like my whole life is full of  spaghetti, full of things that don't make sense but I have to live through them anyway. Finding the grace to do so is the real miracle: grace to stay hopeful, looking forward to a time when all of it, every single detail, will make perfect sense.
In the meantime we read stories and play the harmonica and checkers, and wait.

Today.

Today is one of those days, watching the sky turn from baby blue to smokey pinks and oranges, I really really don't want it to end.
It's one of those days where things are just normal, and all we're doing is normal stuff (church, naps, yard work, bbq dinner, baths...) and it's so perfect and comforting the thought of it ending with the chaos that will start tomorrow as we all head this way and that, is a little sad.
Right now we're waiting for the cookies to be done baking. They are from the box/tub Ethan sold for a fundraiser for his school and I am sure are just horrible for you, probably made of plastic.  But sometimes you just have to not care.
We went to a cowboy poetry reading last night with Joey's family. I don't know if it was the beer or listening to the rarity of artists sharing their heart and souls in such silly and touching ways, but I was happy.
We listened to Paul Zarzyski read his poem, "All This Way for the Short Ride" about Joey's dad's last ride. I've heard the poem and the song over and over now and each time I feel it more, am connected to the realness of it. I squeezed Joey's hand wondering what in the world he must be thinking. I cried really softly, feeling a little awkward as I never knew the man...but as my relationship with his family grows and deepens, I feel more and more connected to him and the loss of his life.
Afterward we headed over to Nevada's oldest bar. We sat outside in the dark night, drinking and taking about our little ones back home, the crazy funny things they say and do. Everyone else seems so damn normal and pulled together, but it made me feel good to know they are up in the middle of the night dealing with poo and barf and everything ugly just like me.
I appreciated the time with my husband even though on the ride up we were angry and the ride back I could barely stay awake.
He drove and I held his hand and tried to lay my head on his shoulder, even though it strained my neck something awful to do so.
We finally made it home and in bed and I woke up this morning with a yucky sleepy hang over, but nothing a hot shower couldn't take care of. And then we started the day, the very normal, oh-so-wonderful-day that was today.

Busy Days Full of Love.

We have been very, very busy. The house is all done, mostly, except for those last couple of tiles in the kitchen, the couple of paint touch-ups from the walls getting banged from this or that. It's beautiful, it's peaceful, and we love living life in it.

Deana and the boys came to visit a month ago and left today. It's been amazingly special to get to know little Adam, and to reacquaint ourselves with Andrew.

The next time we see them they will probably be "big" boys, taller than me. What an awesome reunion that will be! Deana is on the flight home with them as I write, 45 hours this time, including an eight hour lay over in Dubai. Just the thought of it makes me want to go back on my antidepressant.  It was so good to be able to see her again, touch her...there's something about having someone in the flesh, seeing the way they stand, they way they hold their hands, the rhythm of their steps...you just don't get with the telephone or skype or fb. It's like you remember they are alive.
We spent time in Graeagle, watching and playing in the soft beautiful snow.

Ethan had surgery number two in the middle of everything, taking us to Sacramento over and over for the surgery and check ups. I don't mind; it's a wonderful way to spend a day as a family on a short road trip with a stop at Ikeda's for lunch. Can't ask for much more than that.
His ear, although not perfect, is more than he had before. He wears sunglasses now whenever he gets the chance and the other day he said to himself while looking in the mirror, "This is what I always wanted! To just be a regular kid!".  All my doubts and worries about if we should do the surgery went out the window at that point.
He's got one more to go, to put the final touches on it. I thank God for Shriner's Hospital and he was able to have these surgeries done at absolutely no cost to us. If you ever want a cause to support, support them.
I am looking forward to summer, the warm sun browning my skin, relaxing my anxieties as I slowly melt in it's warmth. We go to Vegas this weekend and that's all I plan to do: lay by the pool, read, think, work out, eat, and spend wonderful time with Joey.

Rain or shine, sun or snow. Us. Together = Love.